


to my lips to your lips (then we kiss)

by inamamagic



Series: Then We Kiss [1]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, In suits!, Masculine Petra, also in button downs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamamagic/pseuds/inamamagic
Summary: In which Jane and Petra find themselves entangled in an arrangement where they keep making out in secluded places - not that Jane wants to. She does not. Not at all. Nope.(ft. masculine Petra because why not? Petra in an airy suit! Petra in a button down and loafers! Petra with a quiff! BECAUSE WHY NOT!)(title from 'then we kiss' by icona pop)





	to my lips to your lips (then we kiss)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usuallyproperlyhydrated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallyproperlyhydrated/gifts).



I.

Jane does _not_ want to kiss Petra, nor does she want Petra to kiss her, even though - no - no she does _not_ want Petra to be kissing her - but _oh_ her lips are so _soft_ and - oh there they go down her jaw and - oh _f -_

She whimpers just so, but even that’s enough for Petra’s smug chuckle to hit her earlobe. “Thought you were gonna be quiet,” she whispers, long fingers trailing over the neckline of Jane’s dress.

“I am being quiet!” Jane hisses, angry for being so flustered, angry that Petra flusteres her so easily, with her sharp pastel suits and short blonde hair pushed back in a soft wave. All she ever needs to do is turn those baby blues in her direction and Jane is just - in _pieces_ …

Petra’s lips return to the base of Jane’s jaw, tracing a silent burning trail down her skin. A little nip between every kiss, all the way down to the base of her neck and back up again, and finally, a tug on her earlobe with her lips -

“Petra,” Jane whispers, the words cracking through her throat. “Petra - Petra _please --_ ”

Again with the smug chuckle that has Jane wanting to step on Petra’s clean loafers and call it a day.

“Yes?”

“I - can we - this is a _storage closet_!”

Easier to say that this is a storage closet than to explain the rushed mess of thoughts hurricaning in her mind. This is a storage closet - this is not a man she is kissing - this is a woman - this is a woman she wants to kiss, and more --

Petra looks up and around and smirks at her. “Why yes Jane. A good observation. We _are_ in a storage closet.”

Jane huffs and pulls away, but her skin is singed with the memory of her touch and her fingertips ache for more. “Can we go somewhere else please? Somewhere I don’t have to keep quiet?” She scowls, fanning herself, angry for being so flustered. “And it’s hot here!”

Petra chuckles into her hand. “Fine,” she says, brushing her hair back. Jane glances at the sides of it, newly clipped close to her head, fingers tingling at the thought of running her hands through its softness. Petra straightens her jacket and opened the door a crack, peering out.

Jane hovers between wanting to pull her in again and wanting to get out into the fresh air where she can make a more rational decision about this. Yes. When she’s outside and able to think clearly, she will stop thinking about kissing the hotel owner that she met at a party and gets on terribly with - even though kissing her is… well…

Petra steps out of the closet first before letting Jane out. They clear their throats and look around, and Jane bounces on the balls of her feet.

“So I --”

Petra raises an eyebrow questioningly. Jane falters.

“My office is free,” Petra offers.

 _No_ , Jane tries to say, even as her head starts to nod. _No_ , she tries to exclaim when her feet carry her down the corridor after Petra, who slips off her lilac jacket and carries it over one arm.

 _No_ , she thinks weakly when Petra shuts her office door and pushes her up against it.

 _Oh fuck yes_ , she whispers, when she kisses her again.

 

II. 

It’s just kissing, she tells herself, when she’s pressed up against the wall of Petra’s office for the fifth time this week, both of them strained and frustrated after work - Jane from a long day of teaching and Petra from a long day of undoubtedly yelling at many people.

But this helps. This - Jane goes home feeling a little lighter in some ways, and much heavier in many others. But it helps, still, because it gives her a spark to write for about half an hour every couple of nights before passing out from sheer exhaustion. It helps because it makes her feel slightly cheerful afterwards, which is always good after a long day.

And of course, it helps that Petra’s gorgeous to stare at for the full hour that they keep making out for.

Jane can’t help the little skitter in her heart whenever Petra runs her thumb over her cheek before she leans in. It feels to tender, altogether to intimate for what they’ve fallen into doing.

It’s silly how it happened - they’d met at a party that Jane hadn’t even meant to be at. Her friend Michael was working undercover on a case and he’d asked Jane if she wouldn’t mind coming along to the party with him. She’d said yes because, well, what was the worst that could happen?

This is the worst that could happen, Jane thinks, while Petra’s arm snakes around her waist and pulls her against her body. This is the worst because after the first drunken makeout before Michael had taken her home, Jane and Petra had realised they were highly incompatible. They’d gone on one date and blown it, but neither one of them had been able to forget the one way they were _definitely_ very compatible.

So they kept kissing each other, even though Jane keeps getting so confused about how things _should_ be and how they are - she likes kissing Petra, she likes that she isn’t a man, she likes that she is unapologetically who she is in her suits and her snobby ways, she likes how softly she always starts and ends every makeout.

Jane is very clear about what she likes about Petra, but what if - what if this isn’t - she shouldn’t be doing this… but _this_ is so good --

And now they’re here, with Petra’s trousered leg pressed between both of Jane’s, with her lips hot underneath her jaw, with her deep and quiet grunts interspersed between Jane’s even quieter whimpers, their heartbeats building to a crescendo against each other and --

“Stop.”

Petra pulls away. Her cheeks are flushed pink, as are her lips, plump and swollen, but her eyes are concerned and lucid even as she struggles to steady her breathing.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Jane takes a breath. There’s a singular lock of hair falling over Petra’s forehead but she doesn’t brush it back so Jane does, slowly, running her fingers over the quiff that’s falling out of place, down the softly buzzed sides, brushing the curve of Petra’s ear with her nails…

Petra shivers a little, swallowing visibly, and Jane tugs her shirt collar and pulls her back in.

 

III.

Most days, Petra tastes like the mint candy she pops into her mouth just before Jane drops by. Jane knows she does this because she’s caught the remains of the candy on her tongue twice.

Petra had blushed so deep that Jane had laughed. She hadn’t thought anyone was capable of turning such a perfect shade of red.

Some days, she tastes like nothing, because she’s rushing and she’s caught Jane in the parking lot between meetings. Kissing in hot cars isn’t Jane’s cup of tea, especially when she’s kissing Petra, because there’s always enough heat between them to power the city for a night or two.

Petra always smells like some sort of expensive cologne that lingers on Jane’s skin long after they’ve pulled apart and parted ways for the day. The ghost of her touch curls around her cheeks, her throat, her chest, overwhelming her with the faintest memory of her smell. Underneath her cologne, Petra smells like dry cleaned fabric, but sometimes, if she’s caught her after brunch, there’s just that last hint of bubbly on her tongue and her breath, but Jane doesn’t mind it too much.

Some nights, Petra takes her up to her suite where they fall onto the couch together, frantic, desperate, wanting and scrabbling for more but never pushing past their clothes. Petra’s hands have run the length of Jane’s body countless times but never has she touched her underneath her clothes. The most unclothes Jane has seen Petra is her in a pastel button down, unbuttoned to mid chest, sleeves carelessly pulled up, the front of it untucked from Jane’s relentless tugging. Once, she catches a glimpse of a blue sports bra that matches Petra’s eyes and she has to look away for fear of wanting so much more than she should have.

Sometimes Petra dares to push a little more, and sometimes Jane lets her pull down her sleeve a little to kiss her bare shoulder, trailing her lips up her burning skin, tongue darting over her collarbone and up the length of her throat. Sometimes Jane pushes too, against Petra’s thigh, once against her hand, though they’d pulled away quickly after that and Jane had rushed home.

She wonders if Petra would have a problem with it - with how little Jane’s giving her, with how little there is to expect. Every time they kiss, they always keep it clean, there’s no going beyond the boundaries they’ve set themselves. Jane doesn’t even know who set the boundary first, but as long as Petra isn’t broaching it, neither is she.

She wonders though, oh how she wonders, whether Petra will give up and end this eventually. It starts to keep her up at night, the thought chasing itself round and round in her head like a dog chasing its tail, silly, irrational, but altogether too dizzying to comprehend.

 

IV.

Petra has an Instagram but it barely updates. Jane tries not to go on it much, but when she can’t stand it anymore, she taps her account and scrolls through the same ten pictures over and over again, as though every new pass will uncover some new secret that she can’t possible uncover by _asking_.

There are shots of the beach near the Marbella, overexposed in that _artsy_ way that Jane’s never been able to figure out. A few pictures of champagne glasses. Two pictures of food. And two glorious portraits - one shot for a magazine cover, and another… Jane doesn’t know. It doesn’t have a tag. But the shot is much too intimate to have been taken by just anybody.

In the picture, Petra’s sitting in bed, holding her iPad and frowning just slightly. She’s almost silhouetted against the gauzy curtains, morning sun pulsing softly around her form, but her hair is tousled from sleep and her pyjama shirt is lopsided, almost slipping off one shoulder.

 _Who took this?_ is the thought that shrieks through Jane’s head every time she remembers the picture. But more importantly, _is this person still around?_

They don’t seem to be. Petra and Jane’s little makeout sessions are growing more frequent - if anything, unless Petra is a very skilled multi-tasker and compartmentaliser, there’s no way she’s fitting in someone else into what’s fast becoming a twice a day ritual. No talking, just kissing - though Petra does awkwardly ask Jane how she is every now and again. The one time Jane walked into her suite, frazzled out of her mind and ready to cry, Petra had kissed her fingertips and asked her if she wanted to talk.

Jane had shaken her head and kissed her instead.

She doesn’t like thinking about the look in Petra’s eye after that day. Something too far beyond mere concern, a glint that resembled hurt, but Jane doesn’t want to put such thoughts in her head. Petra can’t care about her that much, and she can’t want to get to know Jane either. That date had been disastrous, they’d barely agreed on anything and it had ended with both of them skipping out on dessert and practically running out of the restaurant.

But Jane likes the way Petra’s lips quirk up when she’s amused, the way her eyes soften when she looks at her. She likes her long fingered hands and how they slip so smoothly into Jane’s own. She likes the way Petra brushes off the front of her suit so decisively, like she knows smoothing it down once is enough to keep it neat. She likes the way she brushes her hair back, the way she fiddles with the ring she wears on her pinky, the way her gaze sinks into Jane and finds respite in her soul.

Jane also likes - and these are the things that keep her up at night in burning hot frustration - the way Petra’s body is lean and hard against hers, the way her lines are straight and clean against her curves, the way her arms hold her body steady while she kisses her absolutely senseless, the way she seems to _want_ Jane just as much as Jane wants her…

Jane wants Petra so much but she’ll never admit it to anybody.

 

V.

Jane has a writing blog that she updates weekly (though lately it’s been more like fortnightly). One day, somebody asks her to be a part of a small panel for a talk about writing and publishing. Jane’s still in the midst of trying to get an agent, but she accepts happily, even though this means having to give Petra a rain check for one of their nights together.

Everyone is lovely and welcoming, and even though the turnout is small, everyone there seems genuinely invested. Jane’s due to speak in a few minutes when a very family blonde head appears in the back row and takes a seat, trying to look inconspicuous - well, as inconspicuous as you can look in a pale blue button down and grey trousers that look like they’ve been pulled out of a Vogue spread instead of from Target, which is where Jane’s dress is from.

Petra glances up the minute it’s Jane’s turn to speak, and Jane’s breath catches in her throat. It’s not just the way she’s sitting - legs apart, leaning forward with her hands clasped together, making Jane shiver - but the _way_ she’s looking at her, too close, too intent, too intense even from all the way at the back.

She clears her throat. “Hi,” she squeaks, and immediately closes her mouth in embarrassment.

Petra smiles and Jane feels like she’s being torn apart.

When the talk is done (mercifully less squeakily), she meets her in the cool darkness of the street outside. There’s a soft breeze blowing, but it’s just cold enough to raise goosebumps on Jane’s arms when it skims over them.

Petra, who as always has a jacket somewhere on her person, immediately shakes it out and swings it around Jane’s shoulders the minute she so much as quivers. Jane smiles. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How’d you know I was gonna be at the panel tonight?”

Under the low light of a nearby streetlamp, Petra blushes. “I read your blog,” she says.

“You read my blog!” Jane squeaks, and spends another two minutes trying to get over it.

Petra leans against the wall of the cafe’ and slips a hand into her pocket, the other one outstretched and beckoning Jane close. Jane takes it and Petra raises her hand to kiss her knuckles, eyes not leaving Jane’s for a moment.

Jane shivers again, but it has nothing to do with the breeze.

“You were good up there,” Petra says. “I thought you were the best out of everyone.”

“You missed the first two speakers.”

“Still,” Petra shrugs. “You were the best.”

Maybe it’s something about the way her jaw sets when she says it, the little line of stubbornness around her face that she hated when they went on that date but is so endearing right now, but Jane laughs and falls into Petra’s arms. Her stomach flutters when she breathes in the smell of her cologne.

“You want me to drop you home?” Petra whispers, her words fizzling into Jane’s hair.

“Can we stay out a little bit first?” Jane asks. Petra’s lips brush over her hairline.

“Yes we can.”

 

VI.

 _We_.

It’s _we_ but… Jane doesn’t know how much of it is her projecting her fantasies and how much of it is Petra wanting them to spend time together. After having dinner together on the night of the panel, they’ve only met again once - for Jane to pick up an earring she dropped in Petra’s office.

But they’ve been talking, definitely. Petra texts her now, beyond _I’m free after lunch at two_ , or, _my suite tonight_ , and Jane replies beyond _can we reschedule to three?_ and _I think I need to see you twice today_.

They’re talking. Tentatively, but they’re talking. But Jane thinks she’ll go mad with waiting and wondering. Her skin crawls with want, with missing Petra’s lips on hers. She craves more than what they have, more than what they had. She doesn’t - she doesn’t know whether she wants Petra whole, or whether she wants her in pieces, pieces she can put together in the privacy of her own mind, to build someone that won’t hurt her, someone who’ll keep her safe.

Petra wasn’t part of her plan. Petra was - Jane’s whole life trajectory had been so clear. A boy. Marriage. Sex. This is none of those things, but Jane knows what her heart wants and she’s never wanted someone as much as she wants Petra.

When she can’t stand it any longer, she takes the car in the middle of the night one weekend and drives to the Marbella. A valet offers to park for her, but she doesn’t have the cash to spare, so she does a few rounds before parking across the beach and walking into the lobby.

It’s bright and sparkling and sparse. The night manager’s in whispered conversation with the receptionist, and the bellboy is falling asleep by the door. The grand doors that open to the beachfront are firmly closed, and Jane’s glad for it. The sea air is always freezing at this time of night, not to mention the sand that must --

“Jane?”

Jane yelps when Petra walks into the lobby with her hand on the small of another woman’s back.

It feels like she’s been punched in the gut. A tsunami of humiliation crashes over her. She feels very hot, and very cold, and very hot again, and her stomach begins to squeeze uncomfortably tight. Any words she wanted to say curdle in her throat, and she swallows the bitter lump before pursing her lips.

Petra whispers something into the woman’s ear and waves at her. The woman doesn’t spare Jane a second look as she walks out.

“What are you doing here?” Petra asks.

“I…” Jane starts, but she can’t really say anything. She doesn’t even know why she’s here. It’s not like she expected to call Petra at two in the morning and ask to see her. She didn’t have a plan. She just…

“I was going to text you actually,” Petra is saying, wringing her hands nervously while Jane runs through every catastrophic scenario in her mind. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while, but I had to see a friend tonight and that ran a little overtime…”

“Two in the morning’s pretty late for _overtime_ ,” Jane finds herself saying. Petra nods.

“She’s going through a bit of a rough time with her family,” she says. “I was outlining a few legal avenues for her with one of our lawyers.”

“And where’s the lawyer?” Jane asks, not meaning to, hating that she’s said it. Petra frowns a little.

“Staying at the Marbella for the weekend,” she says. “I - Jane are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” Jane says with a shudder, her words rushing out as she stares at Petra with her blue eyes and furrowed brow and unbuttoned shirt. “I don’t know, Petra, I - I know we talk and we - we have this - we _had_ something and now we have something else but I… Petra…”

Her voice catches at the end and Petra steps closer.

“What do you want, Jane?” she asks. Jane doesn’t know if she’s imagining the tremble in her voice, the slight shake of her fingers, the way her skin pales when she purses her lips.

“You,” Jane says, feeling like the world is falling apart beneath her feet as she says it. “I want you… but… I - I don’t have it figured out like you do. I don’t know anything except the fact that I have feelings for you, I don’t want to make things difficult for you --”

“Jane.”

Petra steps into her space. Jane looks away. She can’t look at her now that she’s said it, she can’t bring herself to.

“I don’t want to jump into something when I’m so confused,” she says.

“But you’re not confused about liking me?” Petra asks.

“No,” Jane says. Petra shrugs.

“Then we’ll figure it out from there,” she says.

“But I’m so confused about everything else,” Jane starts, but Petra interrupts.

“Religious?” she asks.

“Catholic,” Jane provides. Petra’s lips quirk up just a tiny bit and she takes Jane’s hand and squeezes it.

“Come,” she says, tugging it a little. “Let’s get into bed and you can talk about what’s bothering you.”

Jane blinks. “And you don’t mind?”

Petra laughs her beautiful laugh. “Jane,” she says. “Don’t be silly.”

And Jane almost melts at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ^_^  
> Come scream at me about JTV at justanikkathinks on tumblr


End file.
